


Communion

by honey_wheeler



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chair Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13184826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: It’s unorthodox, but then what about them isn’t? Henry knows what his mother’s marriage is like. He may not be privy to what goes on in her bedroom – and praise God for it – but he knows it is a match based on political expediency more than genuine communion. His own marriage was meant to be just the same, but then neither he nor his mother could have imagined the effect of someone like Lizzie.





	Communion

It’s unorthodox, but then what about them isn’t? Henry knows what his mother’s marriage is like. He may not be privy to what goes on in her bedroom – and praise God for it – but he knows it is a match based on political expediency more than genuine communion. His own marriage was meant to be just the same, but then neither he nor his mother could have imagined the effect of someone like Lizzie.

Where he would be soft, she’s unyielding, where he would go slow, she wants to rush. He’s learned to get his way in that, making a game of drawing things out and teasing her into a compliance that still manages to bristle with energy.

Some nights, though, he takes her as swiftly as she demands to be taken.

They haven’t even made it to the bed. Their feelings had been running hot when she’d stormed into their bedroom ahead of him, both of them fuming from one of those fights they have that’s half performance and half real. She’s cunning with diplomacy, his Lizzie, and skilled at making others believe what she wishes them to. Henry loses track of which arguments they have for show and which they have in truth. Luckily it only fuels whatever is between them when Henry takes her ire and meets it with need.

His favorite chair before the fire has never felt so good. Lizzie straddles him, her knees wedged between his thighs and the arms. He hadn’t even stopped to undress her. She’s got her skirts rucked up around her waist. He’d unlaced her bodice only enough to loosen her shift and tug it beneath her breasts before, and now they bounce and brush against his chin and lips as she rides him as if he were a horse at full gallop.

She’s glorious, his Lizzie, his girl, his Queen. Never has he been so used for a woman’s pleasure; it goes quite to his head. The sounds that escape her aren’t pretty; they’re a world away from the carefully cultivated woman the rest of the world sees. It makes them all the more precious to him, each grunt and whine and whimper a sign of how fully she gives herself to him, how little she cares for anything but the way he gives her pleasure. His hand snuck down between them forces a thin, urgent sound from her throat and tips her into a crisis that seems it might last forever. She slumps against him to pant and shiver, entirely spent, pliable in a way she rarely is elsewhere. There are few things he’s been more proud of in his life than his ability to transform his strong, smart, fiercely independent wife into the soft, sated creature she is now.

“Perhaps I should let you have your way more often,” he says, after her breathing has grown even, his hands and lips touching her anywhere she’ll allow. Once in their relationship, that would have been nowhere. Now it’s everywhere, everywhere but her still-sensitive cunt, which she covers with a protective hand even as she leans into his caress. Even as he’s still hard inside her. “I rather liked the fast business this time.”

“No,” she tells him instinctively, then looks aghast at herself for admitting she wants exactly what he wants to give, even if she only does so indirectly. “That is, you’d only use it as an excuse to call me spoiled, wouldn’t you?” Henry grins at her. He strokes one questing finger over the knuckles of the hand she uses to cover herself, leaning forward to take her mouth in a kiss when she shivers even at that guarded touch.

“As wise as you are beautiful, my Queen,” he says against her lips. In a moment, they will begin again, slow this time. As slow as he likes. For now, he only holds her close.


End file.
